


Awakenings

by pohjanneito



Series: Reddie A/B/O series [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alpha Richie Tozier, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Rut, Getting Together, It's 1993, M/M, Omega Eddie Kaspbrak, Pre-Relationship, first heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pohjanneito/pseuds/pohjanneito
Summary: Eddie flipped the switch on the lamp on Richie’s bedside table, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. And there was Richie, sitting in a corner with his knees pulled up to his chest, surrounded by a mess of dirty clothes, comic books and video game cartridges.His hair was a sweaty mess, the bare skin on his chest flushed fever pink. Even his nylon shorts were plastered to his thighs like a second layer of skin. Eddie dropped his inhaler on the bed and knelt down to cup Richie’s face, his eyes zeroing in on the swollen glands on his neck.“Richie, what’s going on? Are you sick? You’re burning up!”or: Eddie climbs through Richie's window while Richie is going through his first rut.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Reddie A/B/O series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768984
Comments: 41
Kudos: 641
Collections: Rare Reddie Collections





	Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пробуждение (Awakenings)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213293) by [Fil_l](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fil_l/pseuds/Fil_l)



> Just a little heads up about the rating: there's no actual sex, because this is pre-relationship/Richie and Eddie discovering their desire to bond with each other, but there are heavily sexual undertones and a brief moment of some **mildly dubious consent** since Richie is in the middle of his first rut and isn't in full control of himself.
> 
> Thank you to Bonnie, Selene and Bucky for the beta and the help!

Eddie hopped off his bike and left it leaning against the wall of Fosters' Sporting Goods, right next to Bill's trusty old Silver. He knew he was late, but he knelt down to slip the heavy duty lock Richie had stolen for him from the hardware store through the front wheel, because losing his bike meant losing his freedom.

Bill and Stan were already waiting for him at the ticket booth in front of the Aladdin, and Eddie waved at them as he jogged across the quiet street. “Sorry I’m late, you guys. Had to take a detour."

“Bowers?” Stan asked, a knowing, almost tired look passing over his features, because when was Henry Bowers not making their lives hell.

“Yeah… He and his psycho friends were throwing rocks into the canal near Bev’s old house.”

Bill touched Eddie’s elbow, his eyebrows pinched with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Bill, I’m okay.” Eddie glanced around, realizing their group was short of one lanky, foul-mouthed pain in the ass. “Hey, where’s Richie?”

Bill shrugged, equally confused. “I t-thought you two were coming together.”

“What? No, I haven’t seen him all day,” Eddie frowned.

They all knew Richie wasn’t punctual. He could get distracted by the most random thing on his way to the clubhouse or whatever hangout they had chosen for the day. Last week, it was a group of kids doing tricks with their yo-yos in front of the Standpipe and he'd shown up half an hour late with a bloody lip from yo-yoing himself in the face.

Stan was already counting his money against the ticket booth counter. “You guys, the movie’s gonna start in five minutes,” he called impatiently.

Eddie dug his fingers into the fraying fabric of his fanny pack and shot Stan a stubborn scowl. “Nuh-uh. We can’t go in without Richie.”

“Yeah, we can. I’m not missing the movie just because Richie can’t tell time,” Stan insisted, sliding a bunch of coins through the small hole in the plexiglass that separated him from the cashier.

“Come on, you guys, he’s been looking forward to this all summer. We can’t just ditch him.” Eddie gave Bill a pleading look, hoping for some of that Big Bill authority, but Bill just threw his hands in the air and joined Stan at the ticket booth.

“Sorry, Eddie, but it looks like Richie’s the one who’s d-d-ditched us.”

And okay, it kind of looked like Bill was right. Richie was blowing them off, just like he had yesterday at the Barrens, and on Sunday when they’d all agreed to hang out at Ben’s house. Eddie pursed his lips and kicked the toe of his sneaker against the cracked asphalt. What the hell was suddenly so important that Richie didn't have time for his friends?

Eddie looked up when he felt Bill settle his arm over his shoulders, and his nose twitched at the comforting scent Bill was putting out in an attempt to make him feel better. He’d always been gentle with Eddie, but the newly presented alpha in Bill was extra keen on making sure that Eddie didn’t get upset. And it was nice, the way Bill paid attention to him. It made the omega in Eddie preen a little, but Bill had always been like a big brother to him, someone he looked up to. None of his touches ever registered in the spot on Eddie’s neck, the one that always made omegas in the soaps his Mommy watched lose their minds. Which was so silly. No way did some alpha’s touch just turn people into swooning idiots.

Stan waved his ticket at them, always so pissy about missing the previews. Eddie reached into his fanny pack for the rumpled dollar bills he’d stored next to his inhaler and followed Bill to the ticket booth.

The theater was packed full, and the heatwave that hit the town in early July made everyone sweat, the air so thick and muggy that Eddie wished he had one of those masks Richie's dad put on whenever Eddie visited his practice. He finally gave up the hope that Richie might show up just before the opening credits when he saw Gretta Keene take the empty seat next to him, her freshly developed alpha scent almost offensive in a way that Bill and Richie’s never was.

Eddie focused on breathing through his mouth and stuck his hand into the tub of popcorn he and Bill had agreed to share. Screw Richie. Who cared if he didn’t come? Not Eddie, that’s for sure.

Once the movie was over, Eddie followed Bill and Stan out of the theater with the rest of the crowd. The lobby was full of excited post-movie chatter and Eddie hung back to sneak a quick hit from his inhaler before his friends could see that he’d been genuinely scared during the big finale.

“Hey, you think birds really come from dinosaurs?” Stan asked, spinning around and walking backwards with an excited bounce in his steps.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he caught up with his friends. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it was just a movie, Stan.”

“Yeah, but dinosaurs were real,” Bill pointed out, shooting Stan a fond look through the perpetual veil of hair over his eyes.

They got their bikes from the corner of Canal and Main, about to part ways for the night when Bill reached over to give Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze, just close enough to his bonding spot for it to be comforting without crossing any real boundaries.

“Don’t worry about Richie, okay? I’m sure we’ll see him at the quarry tomorrow.”

“I’m not worried,” Eddie scoffed, setting his foot on the pedal. He knew Bill wasn’t fooled, could probably smell the truth in Eddie’s scent, but they said their goodnights and went their separate ways.

His Mommy was gonna expect him home in fifteen minutes, but Eddie paused at the crossroads between Kansas and West Broadway. And it wasn’t that he was worried about Richie, because he totally wasn’t. He was pissed off. Yeah, that was it. He was pissed off about the way Richie had pulled several no-shows on Eddie and the rest of the Losers all week without a single explanation. He deserved to be told off for that, right?

Eddie nodded to himself as he steered his bike towards the suburb with all of Derry’s fanciest houses, the picket fences, backyard pools and manicured lawns so far from Eddie’s own neighborhood that it was like entering a whole other world. A version of Derry you could print out on a postcard or a travel brochure.

The windows on the Tozier house at the end of the cul-de-sac were dark, and Eddie knew Went and Maggie took dance lessons on Tuesdays. He left his bike on the driveway and circled around the house until he was under Richie’s window, the blue glow from his TV telling Eddie he was definitely home.

“Asshole…” Eddie grumbled under his breath, unable to swallow down the hurt he felt over the knowledge that Richie was ignoring him (and the rest of the Losers) on purpose.

He set his foot on the trellis, careful not to step on any of Maggie’s award-winning roses as he climbed up toward the small canopy under Richie’s bedroom window, permanently unlatched for Eddie. He peered in through the glass, expecting to see Richie sprawled on his bed or in the beanbag in front of his TV, maybe with a controller in his hands, but there was nothing but static on the TV screen, and no sign of Richie.

Eddie pushed the window open and poked his head inside.

"Whoah!"

The smell hit him like a punch to the gut and he pinched his fingers against his nose. It was Richie’s scent, Eddie could recognize it with his eyes closed, but there was something wrong with it, like someone playing a familiar song too loud and slightly off-key.

He’d never smelled anything like it, but the knowledge that it was coming from Richie kept his fear at bay, and Eddie climbed inside.

“Richie? Are you in here?” There was no answer, but Eddie could sense Richie’s presence nearby. “Come on, dipshit, you’re not being funny, playing hide and seek like we’re five.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose as he took in the disaster zone around him that was Richie’s room. It was always a mess, but this was a new low, even for Richie. There were empty water glasses on every surface, plates with half-eaten sandwiches and darkened banana peels and Yoohoo bottles with their contents leaking out on the carpet.

The bed being a nest of rumpled sheets wasn’t anything new either, but Eddie blinked when he saw something familiar next to Richie’s pillow. It was his own shirt, the one he got at a camp for young omegas when he’d presented in the summer of 1991, a whole year before anyone else in their group. Eddie was still waiting for his first heat, something his Mommy seemed happy about as she hated the idea of him growing up, but beating Richie in the presentation race had been awesome.

Eddie had no idea how his shirt had ended up in Richie’s room, but he assumed he must have left it behind after one of their sleepovers. He picked it up and brought it to his nose, every muscle in his body seizing up at the smell that assaulted his senses.

The shirt was ripe with alpha pheromones, the smell of arousal that clung to the fabric making it painfully clear what Richie had been doing with it in his bed.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed so hard that it felt like someone had doused him in lighter fluid and tossed a match at his feet. He flung the shirt from his hands and stumbled back, a panicked yelp slipping from his lips as he stepped on one of Richie’s sandwich plates and nearly fell on his ass.

He pulled his inhaler from his fanny pack, his fingers trembling as he gave it a quick shake and took a long hit from the nozzle. “Jesus fuck…”

Someone groaned behind his back and Eddie spun around, squinting at the shadowy corner by the bathroom door. “Richie, is that you?” He squeezed his inhaler like a lifeline as he approached the huddled shape slumped against the wall. “What the hell are you doing sitting there like some creep? Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

Eddie flipped the switch on the lamp on Richie’s bedside table, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. And there was Richie, sitting in a corner with his knees pulled up to his chest, surrounded by a mess of dirty clothes, comic books and video game cartridges.

His hair was a sweaty mess, the bare skin on his chest flushed fever pink. Even his nylon shorts were plastered to his thighs like a second layer of skin. Eddie dropped his inhaler on the bed and knelt down to cup Richie’s face, his eyes zeroing in on the swollen glands on his neck.

“Richie, what’s going on? Are you sick? You’re burning up!”

Richie licked his lips and blinked at Eddie, his head swaying on his shoulders like he was barely able to keep himself upright. There was no sign of his glasses, and Eddie felt his stomach pull into a knot as he took in the dazed look in Richie’s eyes.

“What the fuck? Why are your pupils like that?” he squeaked, using his thumbs to pull on the skin under Richie’s eye sockets. “They’re like pinpricks!”

Richie let out a groan, his breaths speeding up as he began to scent the air. “Eddie?”

Eddie nodded, unable to keep his distress in check as he combed Richie’s sweaty hair behind his ears. “What’s wrong with you? Please, Rich, I- I’m… You’re scaring me, okay?”

Richie stared at Eddie like he was looking right through him. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here.” 

Richie's nose twitched as he continued to scent the air, Eddie’s distress slowly reaching his senses through the weird haze he was in. “You- you have to go, you can’t be here,” Richie slurred, lifting his arm in an attempt to push Eddie away from him.

“Nuh-uh, no way am I leaving you alone like this!” Eddie argued, his eyes landing on a bottle of pills on the nightstand. He grabbed it in his hand, the pills rattling against the orange plastic as he inspected the label on the side. Half of it had been torn off by fidgety hands, but Eddie could see that the bottle was prescribed to Richie.

“For unmated alphas. Take as directed.” Eddie squinted at the label as he tried to identify the name of the drug with the final letters missing. “Wait… these are sedatives. Richie, why the hell are you taking sedatives?”

The bottle in Eddie's hand fell on the floor as he took in the sudden shift in Richie’s posture. He was no longer slumped against the wall like a lifeless doll, his eyes now all pupil and more lucid than a moment ago.

“Richie?”

Richie’s nostrils flared, his knuckles digging into the carpet as he began to crawl towards Eddie. His scent was shifting again, becoming so thick and overwhelming that it made Eddie’s eyes water.

The realization of what was going on hit him a moment before Richie was on him. He knocked Eddie on the floor and wrapped his long fingers around his wrists like spider legs.

Richie was in a rut.

_Fuck_. Richie was in a rut and Eddie had put his hands all over him like he had no sense of self-preservation. How could he be so stupid? He knew how alphas got during ruts, especially young and inexperienced ones like Richie. They made sure to drill it into every omega in the pamphlets he’d been given at the doctor’s office when he presented.

And this had to be Richie’s first rut, because he had presented only a few months after Bill, the really hard rut that drove many young alphas into wrecking their rooms or running out of the house. No wonder Maggie and Went had given Richie something to ease his ordeal.

Richie loomed over him, his palms sweaty against Eddie's wrists. Eddie tried to throw him off, but Richie had at least thirty pounds on him, and the noodles he called arms were stronger than they looked. “Come on, Richie, let me go,” he whined, the words barely getting out through the panic in his chest.

Richie stared down at him with eyes so black they were like two holes in a mask, one of those scary Halloween ones. His chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths as he drank in Eddie’s scent, the muscles in his neck straining.

Eddie shivered as he watched Richie flick his tongue over his bared canines, much more prominent than Eddie’s own.

“ _Eddie_...” Richie let out a keening whimper and buried his face in Eddie’s neck, his fingers around Eddie’s wrists trembling as he drew in a deep inhale.

The air in the room grew thick with Richie's pheromones. Eddie felt almost drunk with it, not that he’d ever been drunk, but he imagined this was how it must feel, the room around him swimming in and out of focus as his control began to slip away.

Richie smelled more mature than before, almost like the group of older alphas they’d run into at the arcade a few weeks ago. Eddie remembered how Richie had yanked him away by the strap on his fanny pack when one of them had broken the old Pac-Man machine in a scuffle over the omega in their group. He'd wanted to be angry about it, because he'd been so close to breaking his old record in Galaga, but the way Richie had used his lanky body to shield Eddie from the other alphas had left him speechless for the rest of the evening.

Eddie allowed himself to breathe it all in, the smell of Richie’s rut, the raw want in it. He curled his toes when he felt Richie’s lips on his neck, the wet tip of his tongue flicking against Eddie’s tender skin, right over his bonding spot.

“Richie…” Eddie whimpered, and it was meant to sound like a protest, but his thighs fell open around Richie’s narrow hips, like an invitation.

Richie thrust against Eddie, just once, and they both cried out at the brief sensation of their bodies coming together. Richie was so _hard_ , straining against the worn nylon of his shorts. Eddie jerked his hips up, the soles of his sneakers scraping against the carpet as he caged Richie between his thighs.

"No, no, no," Richie panted, going still above Eddie. "Not like this."

Eddie blinked, the strange fog over his senses lifting. The room came back into focus and Eddie found himself staring at a poster of Bobcat Goldthwait, pinned on the wall above Richie's bed.

What the hell were they doing? Richie was his best friend! He really had to get out before they did something irreversible.

“I-I have to go now,” Eddie insisted, squirming under Richie’s weight.

“Yeah... Yeah, okay,” Richie nodded, sounding almost pained as he let go of Eddie’s wrists and tore himself away from his neck.

Eddie sat up and watched Richie retreat into the same corner he’d found him in. Richie ran a trembling hand through his hair and hid his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Eddie asked.

“Please, Eddie, just- just go,” Richie whined, his voice strained. “You saw what just happened. I can’t be around you.”

Eddie nodded, scrambling to his feet. He rushed towards the open window, his eyes still on Richie’s huddled form as he set his foot on the ledge. “I-I’m sorry.”

Richie lifted his head, his sweaty hair clinging to his cheeks. “Me, too, Eds,” he said, watching Eddie with such open and raw longing that Eddie's foot slipped off the ledge. He was about to turn back, but the growl from Richie made him freeze on the spot.

“No!” Richie shook his head and bared his teeth at Eddie. “Go home, _now_.”

Eddie blinked at Richie, his mouth hanging open in a startled little O. Neither Richie nor Bill had ever used the power they held over Eddie to tell him what to do, but the omega in him reacted to the command almost instantly. He slipped out of the window, several of Maggie’s roses crumbling under his sneakers as he stumbled down the trellis. He ran to the driveway and climbed on his bike, his hands trembling on the handlebars as he pedaled down the quiet street.

It felt like his heart was clawing its way up his throat and there was an ache in his chest that forced him to hit the breaks at the other end of the cul-de-sac. Eddie shoved his hand into his fanny pack, desperate for his inhaler, only to realize that he’d left it in Richie’s bedroom.

“Oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit_.”

He wiped at his eyes, blinking in surprise when his knuckles came away wet with tears.

"It's okay, Eds, it's okay," he muttered to himself. "Just take a fucking breath."

It was all okay. Richie hadn’t hurt him, of course he hadn’t, because Richie was his Person, the one who understood him better than any of the other Losers, never treated him like something that was broken and in need of fixing. Sure, they bickered (like an old married couple, according to Bev) and gave each other shit all the time, but Eddie knew Richie would always have his back, no matter what.

He didn’t even realize he’d slipped his fingers under the collar of his shirt until they were pressed against the spot where he’d felt Richie taste him, the phantom touch of his lips like a brand. Eddie yanked his hand away and squeezed it around the handlebar in a white-knuckled grip as he forced himself to move.

He biked along the Kenduskeag, desperate to get to his own shitty side of the river, the ache in his chest clawing at his ribs the whole way home.

He listened to his mother fuss over him for reeking like an alpha in rut ( _it's that awful Tozier boy, isn’t it? I knew it! He’s been sniffing around you all these years, waiting to get his dirty paws on my sweet Eddie-Bear!)._ The knowledge that she’d be watching him like a hawk for the rest of the summer should have upset him, but all Eddie could think of was the burn in his neck and the strange ache that continued to carve a home in his chest.

When Eddie fell asleep that night, his nose was buried in his shirt where Richie’s scent had weaved its way into the faded fabric. He dreamed of dark eyes and sharp canines on his neck, his body hot with a fever that had no cure in Mommy’s medicine cabinet.

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  


Richie resurfaced from his hormone-addled haze to a pounding headache, the sound of some asshole mowing their lawn across the street tearing at his eardrums. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead and it took him three tries to pry them open, the sunlight that filtered through the cracks in his blinds like a dose of mace on his retinas.

His hands were clenched around what felt like a shirt, the fabric all damp and crusty. Richie’s stomach lurched with shame as he caught a faint whiff of Eddie’s scent underneath the stink of his own rut.

Jesus Christ, he’d have to burn the damn thing after everything he’d done to it.

His memories of the whole ordeal were hazy like a half-forgotten fever dream. It was like he'd been held hostage in his own body while some primal _thing_ called all the shots. Richie was relieved that he hadn't run out of the house in his birthday suit like Chuck Hassler, senior of '88 and a local streaking legend, but he’d definitely made a mess of his room, and it’d be a fucking miracle if he popped another boner until he was, like, forty.

There was a tentative knock at his door. “Richie? Are you awake? Is it alright if I come in?"

Richie shoved Eddie’s ruined shirt under a pillow and lifted his blanket to make sure he wasn't naked. “Y-yeah, Mom, you can come in.”

The whole room must have reeked like a dump, but his mother didn’t say anything about it, ignoring the sea of used tissues and weird stains on the carpet as she made her way to Richie’s bed.

She stroked her thumb over the round arch of his cheekbone. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Richie smacked his lips in an attempt to pry his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "Like one of those steaming turds Mrs Keller's poodle keeps leaving on our lawn?"

"I see your sense of humor is as crude as ever, Richard," Maggie noted, the use of his full name conveying her disapproval.

She recovered Richie's glasses from a pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the bed and set them on his nose.

Richie blinked as his world came into focus for the first time in what must have been days.

“Oh, isn’t this Eddies?” His mom held up a familiar-looking inhaler, and yeah, that sure was Eddie’s. “How did it end up in your bed?”

Richie almost swallowed his tongue at a sudden onslaught of memories. His eyes darted to the window and he remembered Eddie climbing through it, remembered the warmth of Eddie’s palms against his cheeks, how he'd knocked Eddie on his back and… _Oh fuck_.

“Well, I hope he has a spare one at home.” His mother set the inhaler on the nightstand and pushed Richie's greasy hair off his face, oblivious to the internal meltdown he was having right under her nose. “How about I run you a nice bath and when you’re done, you can come downstairs and have a big breakfast? You barely ate this past week and you're already so skinny!”

Richie barely heard her from the frantic _thump thump thump_ of his heart in his ears. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mom,” he said with a vague nod, his eyes still glued to Eddie’s inhaler.

Maggie filled the bathtub for him and left the room with her hands full of dirty plates and half-finished snacks that had gone bad days ago.

Richie stumbled into the bathroom and folded himself into the tub, his arms and legs too long for it no matter how he arranged himself. His brain continued to loop around the image of Eddie, bathed in a blue glow from the TV, his body pliant and soft under Richie’s. The memory of it was hazy, built around scent and sensation rather than something solid, but the desire to bite down on Eddie's bonding gland had him salivating, and okay, it looked like Richie had been wrong about the boner.

There was a plateful of pancakes waiting for him when he came downstairs, and Richie wolfed them down like he'd been starving for a week. Because he had.

"Slow down, honey," Maggie chuckled as Richie abandoned his utensils in favor of shoving half of a pancake into his mouth with his fingers, his cheek bulging like a hamster’s.

The small TV on the counter was turned to some mid-morning soap, and his mom kept watching it from the corner of her eye as she made Richie another stack of pancakes. She very pointedly didn't ask about his rut, thank fuck, because what would he even say to her?

_Guess what, Mom! I popped my first knot and jerked off on Eddie's shirt like some creep, then he came into my room and I slobbered all over his neck because I’m maybe kinda sort of in love with him._ _Anyway._ _How was_ your _week?_

Richie was out of the house the moment he'd had his fill of pancakes (and got the green light from his mom to actually step out). He fetched his bike from the garage, feeling like he'd been let off a leash, and even the town dump didn't smell as bad as it usually did when he passed it on his way to the clubhouse.

There was a familiar pile of bikes next to the open hatch and Richie felt his stomach lurch with nerves. What if Eddie wouldn't want to talk to him anymore? What if he was so disgusted with Richie that he wouldn't even want to breathe the same air as him? What if he made that gagging face and--

“Richie? Is that you?” Mike called from the bottom of the ladder.

Richie wiped his palms against his jeans and adjusted his glasses as he went through his catalogue of Voices, landing on a well-hated classic.

“Top of the morning to you, lads!”

He descended into their underground hideout and was met with a chorus of _Richie where the hell have you been?_

Normally, Richie thrived in the spotlight, but he struggled to find his voice, opening and closing his mouth like one of those weird ventriloquist dolls as his friends swarmed around him.

"You've been gone for a whole week!"

“You missed the movie!”

“Bill found a turtle in the quarry and it bit him on the toe!"

“Bev called and said she’s coming to visit on my birthday, and my Mom said we can have a party at my house!”

Richie gave his friends a stunned smile, his ears ringing with the excited chatter as everyone kept talking over each other. Everyone except Bill. He watched Richie over Ben’s shoulder, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under Richie’s eyes.

Bill hadn’t talked about his own rut, not even with Richie, but he had a feeling that Bill knew why he'd gone MIA for a week.

Bill stepped closer and there was a knowing look in his eyes as he clasped Richie’s shoulder. “How was it?”

Richie blew out a long breath through the seam of his lips and glanced at Bill through his fringe. “Like I went full Exorcist for seven days?”

Bill nodded and gave Richie a sympathetic smile. "Y-yeah…”

Richie gathered the courage to finally look at Eddie only to find that there was no sign of him. Even the hammock was empty, hanging between the sturdy beams like a giant banana peel.

“Wait, where’s Eddie?”

Four worried looks were exchanged at the question, and Richie’s stomach did a full three-sixty as the shame he’d felt morphed into fear.

“We haven’t seen him for a few days,” Mike said after a beat. “We tried calling him, but Mrs Kaspbrak hung up on us all, even Ben and Stan.”

Richie buried his hands into his hair, the fear in his belly spreading into his limbs. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

Had he done something to Eddie after all? His memories were so hazy because of the damn sedatives. What if Eddie was hurt? What if Sonia had found out that he'd been in Richie's room and planned to keep Eddie locked up for the rest of his life?

“Hey, Richie, are you okay?” Bill asked as he became aware of the distress in Richie’s scent.

Richie shuffled his feet, a blotchy blush rising to his cheeks as Bill pulled him aside.

“Bill, I- I… Eddie, he came into my room while I was, you know, and I’m pretty sure we stopped before anything could happen, but..." Richie's voice grew shrill as he clenched the front of Bill's t-shirt in his fists. "But, but what if I did something? Something Eddie didn't want and now he hates me and-"

"C-calm down, Richie!" Bill looked alarmed at Richie’s confession, his brow furrowing with frustration as he struggled with his stutter. “You d-d-don’t remember w-w-what happened?”

“My parents had me on those stupid sedatives,” Richie hissed, aware of the concerned looks the rest of the Losers were casting his way. “The doc declared me a high-risk case, because…" _Because I've been in love with Eddie since I was thirteen years old_ is what Richie didn't say. "I don't know why, but I was high around the clock."

Richie let go of Bill's shirt and tapped his palm against his thigh in an anxious rhythm. “Bill, I gotta go see him, make sure he’s okay," he whispered.

“His mom won’t let you,” Stan said, clearly aware of what was being discussed. “She hasn’t allowed you or Bill inside the house since you presented.”

Stan wasn’t wrong. Even Eddie had forbidden Richie from climbing in through his window, too afraid of Mrs K. catching a whiff of Richie’s big, bad, alpha stink in his room.

"Yeah, Mrs K. is like a warden or something," Ben said.

“I don’t fucking care!” Richie snapped, regretting his tone when he saw Stan and Ben flinch. The newfound hierarchy in their group was something they were all still getting used to, and Richie shot them both an apologetic look. "I'm going," he said, a little calmer but no less determined as he climbed up the ladder, not bothering to see if the others would follow.

They did, because Losers stuck together, and no one, not even Stan, tried to stop Richie as he raced down Neibolt Street. He took a shortcut through the train yard where he and Eddie had set off a bunch of cherry bombs just last week, the tires of his bike skidding on loose gravel.

Richie hit the brakes in front of Sonia’s Pacer and marched towards the dilapidated porch. Eddie’s house had always been a little creepy, but the way the curtains were drawn over all the windows gave it an extra sinister aura. Richie hadn’t used the front door in ages and his stomach was in knots as he gave the doorbell an obnoxiously long ring, one that was impossible to ignore even if Sonia would know exactly who was behind her door.

Bill and Stan left their bikes next to Richie’s and hurried across the unkempt yard, but Mike and Ben lingered at the mailbox. And who could blame them? Having a heart-to-heart with Sonia Kaspbrak wasn’t on anyone's bucket list.

Richie's finger slipped from the doorbell as Stan grabbed his shoulder and gave his sleeve a yank. “You idiot,” Stan hissed. “We don’t stand a chance if the first thing she sees is you abusing her doorbell.”

They heard three sets of locks come undone, the hinges wailing as the door was pushed ajar. Mrs K. peered through a narrow crack with one suspicious eye. Stan tried to shield Richie from her view, but her gaze zeroed in on him like a homing missile.

Sonia lunged out in her mauve dressing gown, her eyes bulging behind her glasses as she pointed an accusatory finger at Richie. “ _You!_ You’re the one who did it!” she shrieked, the plastic bracelets on her wrist rattling against each other, and whoever said betas were mellow clearly hadn’t met Sonia Kaspbrak.

“D-d-did what, Mrs. Kaspbrak?” Bill asked, polite as ever.

Sonia ignored Bill and pushed Stan against the railing as she elbowed her way into Richie’s personal space. “You dirty _mutt_ ,” she spat, poking Richie in the chest with the tip of her polished nail. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my Eddie? You’ve ruined everything!”

The resolve that had propelled Richie to Eddie’s doorstep drained away like someone had let all the air out of him. He shook his head, taken aback by Sonia's accusations. “Is- is Eddie okay?” Richie asked, and the alpha authority he'd learned about in his freshman biology class was probably an urban legend because Richie sounded like a chew toy.

“No, he’s not okay! My Eddie-Bear is sick because of you!” Sonia cried out, her face the same shade of pink as her nails. "Do you hear me? You've made him sick!"

Eddie had told them all about the placebos, and Richie suspected Sonia was back on her bullshit, but his words got lodged in his throat as he opened his mouth to argue.

He stumbled back like he’d been pushed, his nostrils flaring at the scent that had begun to flood out through the open door. _Eddie’s scent_ , sweet and familiar, but laced with something that made Richie’s mouth flood with saliva.

One look at Bill told Richie he wasn’t the only one who’d been hit with it and they gaped at each other with slack-jawed expressions. Stan gave them both a puzzled look, his nose twitching as he tried to scent the air.

It was like half of Richie's brain cells just combusted, and he felt like the fucking wolf in a Tex Avery cartoon as he lunged toward the door, his sneakers skidding against the porch as Bill and Stan grabbed hold of his arms and held him back.

“Richie, _don’t_ ,” Stan hissed, but his mild beta scent did nothing to temper whatever madness had taken over Richie’s higher brain functions.

Sonia let out a shrill squeal and her face went slack with horror as she realized what was happening. She flew back into the house like a frilly tornado and slammed the door in their faces, bolts and locks sliding into place.

“I want you off my property right now!” Sonia screamed through the door as Bill and Stan continued to drag Richie across the yard.

They were almost at their bikes when Richie wrenched himself free from their hold. He circled behind the house, about to climb up the elm tree in front of Eddie’s window when someone yanked him back by the collar of his button up.

Richie let go of the branch and spun around, his lip curling up in a snarl. He knew Bill was no threat to him, but the growl was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Bill’s nostrils flared and his scent became sour as they stared each other down in some weird battle of wills Richie didn’t fully understand. There was a clear challenge in Bill’s eyes, one that Richie met with a stubborn scowl through his glasses until the hold Bill had on his shoulder began to loosen.

"It's your f-funeral," Bill muttered, but he stepped aside as Richie hoisted himself up into the tree.

Eddie’s window was bathed in a beam of sunlight like a gateway to goddamn heaven, and if this really was to be his funeral, Richie was more than happy to climb through it.

He jumped off the branch, the mossy shingles bending under his feet as he landed on the canopy above the back porch. He held himself still for a moment, listening for Sonia’s familiar gait, but it looked like his coast was clear.

He smelled Eddie before he saw him, his scent seeping through the cracks in the worn wood of the window frames. And this close, there was no doubt about it. Eddie was in the middle of his first heat.

Richie felt something possessive knock loose in his chest when he realized it was his own doing. Eddie was in heat because of him.

_For him_.

The room beyond the window was obscured by the old cowboy print curtains Richie could date all the way back to his first visit to the Kaspbrak house, but there was a gap between the panels just wide enough for him to peek through. He dropped to his knees and plastered his palms against the sun-warmed glass.

The sound caused the Eddie-shaped lump on the bed to move and his head poked out of the nest of sheets a moment later. He looked like a dazed gopher as he gaped at the window, his hair plastered against his forehead, the ends curling around his ears like loosely spun yarn.

Fucking cute, cute, cute.

Eddie's nose twitched and he sat up even straighter when his gaze finally focused on Richie. His entire face lit up and he freed himself from the tangle of sheets, nearly colliding with the dresser in his hurry to reach the window. He yanked the curtains aside, his breaths misting against the glass as he smacked his palms against it, right over Richie’s.

Richie sank his teeth into his bottom lip and drew in a deep inhale, his mouth watering at the scent of Eddie’s heat. It was nothing like the almost clinical-smelling sample they’d stuck under his nose at the doctor’s office when he presented last spring. Sure, there was the scent of heat shared by every omega, but there was a whole myriad of things mixed into it that was something uniquely _Eddie_.

Richie’s throat clicked as he swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth. He pressed his forehead against the glass and gave Eddie an apologetic look through his lashes. "Eds, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Are you okay? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

Eddie shook his head, and there was no trace of anger or disgust on his face as he slipped his hand under the collar of his sweat-soaked Thundercats shirt.

Richie curled his fingers against the glass as he watched Eddie touch himself under the fabric, right over his bonding spot, his lips moving in the shape of Richie's name.

“Oh fuck, Eds…”

Richie wanted to push the window open so fucking bad, but when he saw Eddie reach for the latch, he smacked his hands against the bottom of the frame to hold it down.

“ _No_.”

Eddie tilted his head, his eyes imploring. He gave the frame a nudge and pressed the tip of his freckled nose against the window, a quiet litany of _please, please, please_ spilling from his lips.

"Eds, I'm sorry, but we _can't_."

Richie’s grip on the frame remained firm even as the scent of Eddie's heat ate away at his resolve because Bill was right, it would be his funeral if he gave in. He had to stay strong, for both of them.

Richie saw Eddie’s head whip to the door behind his back just as Bill called his name from the shade of the elm tree.

"Richie! Get your ass d-down here!" Bill hissed, sounding alarmed.

It seemed Sonia was finally on the move.

Eddie bit his lip, his brows pinched like he was in actual pain as Richie urged him to move.

"Go, go, go!"

Eddie tore himself away from the window and Richie watched him dive back into the nest of blankets just as the door to his room was pushed open. He rolled out of sight as Sonia came to yank the curtains in front of the window once more, isolating Eddie from the world outside of his room.

Richie knew he’d be caught if he didn’t make his escape soon, but he glanced down at the toucan print button up he’d pulled over his t-shirt. He shrugged it off his shoulders and rubbed the soft fabric over the scent glands just under his jawline. He placed it under Eddie’s window and pushed the frame up as quietly as possible, just enough for Eddie to catch his scent and find his offering once Sonia was gone.

Bill was still waiting for him when Richie climbed down from the tree, hunched behind the trunk.

“You’re c-c-crazy, Richie. She coulda called the cops on us,” Bill scolded as they rushed out of the yard.

They grabbed their bikes from the sidewalk and joined the others in a Sonia-free zone further down the street.

Stan didn’t say a word, but the look he gave Richie conveyed his feelings well enough.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a dumbass,” Richie agreed, slumping against the handlebars of his bike as he caught his breath.

Stan cocked his brow, taking note of Richie’s missing shirt. "Well, I hope it was worth it."

Richie thought of Eddie, how he'd bring Richie's shirt into his little nest, breathe in his scent to ease the ache, maybe push it between his thighs where he was… Or maybe not. Because he wasn't gross like Richie.

“Is Eddie okay?” Mike asked, his face pinched with worry. "We heard Mrs Kaspbrak yell that he’s sick.”

Richie glanced at Bill and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“He’ll be fine in a couple of days,” Bill said, taking the lead with Silver as they headed back to the train yard.

They rode around town until Ben headed home to write his weekly letter to Beverly, and Mike and Bill parted from the group in front of Bassey Park. Richie continued to cycle next to Stan in a slow pace, their houses only a few streets apart.

He knew there was no proper bond between him and Eddie, not yet, but there was _something_ , and Richie just had to tell someone, and that someone would always be Stan.

"Stan, my man?"

Stan watched him from the corner of his eye and did lazy zigzags with his bike as he waited for Richie to speak.

Richie cleared his throat, his palms sweaty against the rubber of his handlebars. “So you know how Eddie and I, how we've always kind of…"

Stan let out an amused snort. "Believe me, Richie, I know. We all do. You guys aren't very subtle."

Richie came close to colliding with the Buick parked on the curb as he gaped at Stan. "Oh."

Stan slowed down as they approached the crossroads between their streets. He took one foot off the pedal and shielded his eyes from the sun as he turned to look at Richie. "I know Eddie isn't really sick. I couldn't smell him like you and Bill, but I know why you climbed up to his window."

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and let out a strained chuckle. Stan had always been so observant, seeing the details in a bigger picture and hearing what was left unsaid.

Richie fixed his gaze on the spokecard Eddie had put in the front wheel of his bike back in seventh grade, the ace of hearts still in pristine condition under the laminate. "Stan, I think… I think Eddie is the one for me. Like, _the one_.”

The wind spun Stan's curls off his forehead and there was something amused in his eyes as he reached out to give Richie's arm a gentle knock with his knuckles.

“Of course he is.”


End file.
